


Watching You

by siobhrag



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anniversary, Established Relationship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Masturbation, POV First Person, POV Harry Potter, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Harry, Present Tense, Romance, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siobhrag/pseuds/siobhrag
Summary: Severus is getting dressed. Harry’s watching and remembering things.(And a tiny peek into Severus’ wardrobe).
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 10
Kudos: 170





	Watching You

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed.
> 
> Kick me, please, if some stray typo crawled its ways into the text.

Watching Severus dress is one of the most erotic sights I’ve ever seen. I know that it should be the other way round, that I should feel that way watching him undress, but I can’t help myself. 

When he’s undressing, I feel entirely different things; arousal, desire, anticipation. But when I see him put all his clothes on, I feel something I never thought I would feel. I feel possession. 

I don’t think many people have had the privilege of seeing him do such a trivial thing as getting dressed. Hell, I don’t think anyone has ever seen him like that. That’s all for me. I’m the only one he let that deep into his life. I’m the one he let his guard and shields, mental and physical, down for. 

I roll onto my side, propping my head on my hand. Severus has just got out of the shower. The towel hangs low on his hips. His hair’s wet and slicked back from his face. One more thing he never does on public. He never opens his face like that for others. That’s just for me, too. Or better say, with me. 

Stray drops of water slide down his back and into the towel, to what’s hidden by it. I lick my lips knowing perfectly well what’s under the innocuous piece of terry cloth. Severus bends over to get a pair of clean underwear and socks from the bottom drawer. It’s a pity, but the towel doesn’t budge. Just as well, he’ll remove it in a minute.

And so he does. But only after he dries his hair with a wandless spell and casts a quick glance at the mirror, which reflects me, watching him. He knows about it anyway. He always knows everything about me. He once said that he can feel me, my mind and my thoughts. Not know them exactly, but feel them. 

I smile, but he doesn’t look in the mirror anymore. He summons the hairbrush and quickly, carelessly brushes his hair. My hands itch with want to do that for him. I love his hair; it’s so thick and lustrous and soft. But he barely pays it any attention. 

Now I’m presented with the view of Severus’ backside, in its full gorgeous glory. I smirk and shift on the bed a bit, arranging my legs so that I can rub my cock on the sheets, if such a need arise. I know it’s not very hygienic and proper, but the sheets are in need of cleaning anyway, after what we did last night, so I think I can allow myself this bit of a dirty boy behaviour; though I’m hardly a boy anymore, at twenty three. 

It took me, and him, several years, to realise what we meant for each, what we wanted to be for each other. I helped him when no one would, after the Battle, the Shack and ensuing mayhem. He helped me and set me to rights when I was about to throw my life away. 

We argued, and shouted at each other, and fought for several years, until one day he just shut me up. With a kiss. It changed everything. I asked him to dinner. He snorted but agreed. We ended that evening in his bedroom at Hogwarts. He asked me to stay the night, and I did; for almost every night the past two years. 

Severus swishes the towel across his back the last time and throws it into the bathroom. I smirk again. I certainly rubbed off on him, and not with my good side. He’s not as stiff and proper as he used to be two years ago, when we first started seeing each other. 

He bends over again to pull on his underwear. I can see everything now; his heavy balls hanging there, enticingly, making my mouth water for the umpteenth time this morning; his fleshy cock, now limp and placid, peeking out from underneath them; his slightly parted arsecheeks revealing his most private place. 

He let me have him once, a year after we got together. It was glorious, but I still prefer it the other way round. I squirm a bit, and my own arse reminds me of what was done to it last night. I wouldn’t mind to repeat the last night’s activities, but now is not the time. I’ve learnt that much in the course of those two years. 

He pulls his underwear up, hiding everything and I quietly sigh in relief. He can do that to me. He can arouse me, make me squirm and come without even touching me, without even being near me. Though, usually it would be his intention. He will actually laugh with his rich laugh if I were to come all on my one, just from watching him dress. 

Severus adjusts himself in the underwear and I smile. There’s certainly something to be adjusted. And the way his trousers are usually so tight, it’s a miracle no one ever noticed his treasures before. Or, which is more likely, he never let anyone notice anything. Just me.

He pulls his socks next; and he needs to bend over again to do that. Now I’m presented with the view of his arse tightly enveloped in the black cotton of his boxer briefs. Sometimes I think he does it all on purpose, showing off like that. He knows I like to watch him. As with everything he does, his movements are economic, precise and efficient. 

True to the common belief, almost all his clothes are black. I asked him once about it, and he explained, calm and with humour that it was common, almost a rule though an unofficial one, for Potions Masters to wear black. It has something to do with safety and cleanliness. He said it was easier to see if you had some ingredient on your clothes, and it was less distracting. 

Whatever the reason behind it, he looks gorgeous in black. I told him about it once. He huffed and blushed. I snogged him senselessly that evening. 

I stretch my already numb arm on the pillow and lower my head on it. My eyes are still trained on Severus and his morning routine. Yes, I’ve seen it all countless times already, but I will never have enough. 

He steps quietly to the wardrobe and pulls his trousers out; black and tight, as usual. I’m glad he’s wearing a frock coat and a robe over them all the time. I’ve never thought myself to be jealous before, but I don’t want anyone looking at him, seeing through all those layers he’s hiding behind. 

Being with Severus opens up new sides of me, even to myself. I’ve definitely never thought myself to be a voyeur. But that’s exactly what I’m doing right now, isn’t it?

He’s pulling on his trousers now. Despite being so tight, they slide up effortlessly along his long legs. I know from experience that their fabric is really soft. He adjusts himself a bit again, but doesn’t button up his fly. Again, I’m very familiar with those buttons. I’m now an expert on the speedy unbuttoning. 

On countless occasions I’ve Flooed to his office during his breaks between classes to practice this particular skill. Severus teased me once that I finally learnt the timetable for classes at Hogwarts, only I was several years late. I grinned and gave him the mind-blowing blow job. He had to sit all through his next class, assigning the students some reading. He barely did it in all his years of teaching. He took his revenge that evening. And then I had to skip my flying class the next day. My colleague trainees looked at me strangely, but it was worth it.

He doesn’t wear either belt or suspenders. His trousers are custom made and fit him perfectly. He’s taking his shirt next. Today it’s one of the whites, without buttons on the chest, but with a high button-up collar. He also has several black shirts and one or two colourful ones. I once bought him a red one, just to tease him. Severus humoured me and put it on. He looked gorgeous in it, with his raven hair and white skin contrasting against the richly-coloured fabric. I took it off him immediately and made him promise not to wear it on public. He told me he never had any intention of doing that in the first place. 

Severus tucks his shirt into his trousers and buttons the fly up. He buttons his collar and cuffs next. There must be a shop-worth of buttons scattered here, all around his quarters at Hogwarts and at my tiny apartment in London. Both of us can be very impatient, not bothering to undo them properly or at least use the spell. 

Next comes the cravat. It’s the only piece of clothing in which he allows some colour to appear. Not much, though. My chest warms up when I see that he’s taking the one I gave him; navy blue with a black leafy pattern on it. He’s saying that the leaves are from some poisonous plant, but I think he’s just pulling my leg. 

He ties the cravat into an elaborate knot. I asked him to teach me to do that and now I’m able to tie several different knots, though I’ve never worn a cravat in my life. Sometimes, when I’m not ogling his every move, I help him with that. It usually ends up with him taking care of me with his hand or mouth. I never complain, obviously. 

Severus spends some time choosing a waistcoat. I don’t know what takes him so long with this piece of clothing, as he has exactly four waistcoats, all of them black and of the same cut, only the fabric is different. I especially like the one made of black gleaming brocade, with subtle dark-silver embroidery. He only wears it on big occasions. 

He finally chooses the one made of silk with cotton lining and with two rows of silver buttons. Even though it’s spring already, the air is still cool. He’s spending his whole day in the cold and damp dungeons, so he needs as much protection against the cold as he can get.

The waistcoat fits his torso snugly, accentuating his slim waist, ramrod straight back and toned arms. His shoulders are not that broad, but you can see and feel how strong he is. All the cauldron wielding and occasional gardening he had to do throughout his entire life made his body lean, agile and strong. 

He puts on his boots next. He takes them from the wardrobe, clean, polished and shining (some anonymous elf’s job, no doubt), and sits on a small settee near the wardrobe. He’s facing me now, but he’s purposefully not looking at me. I know, though, that he sees me anyway. I don’t know how he’s doing that, but he’s always aware of my gaze on him, whenever it might be. 

He’s tying up the laces and adjusts the edges of his trouser legs over his boots. It’s intriguing and breathtaking watching him putting on all those layers of his everyday armour. Layer by layer, with each piece of clothing he puts on, I can see him gradually turning from my Severus into terse and sarcastic professor Snape. But not for me, not anymore. He will never change back for me. As I will never be the same foolish boy for him. 

His dressing up is almost over. He takes his frock coat from the wardrobe and dons it. He’s suddenly engulfed by all this black fabric, the whiteness of his shirt gone. The frock coat almost reaches his knees. It a no-nonsense garment, with no adornment. Even the buttons are black; they look like tiny beetles. I shiver. It’s a miracle, actually, that I managed to get to his heart through all this make-shift armour.

He does up the buttons with a flick of his wrist. He adjusts the collar and the cuffs. He shifts and moves his arms a bit to let the coat sit properly on his body. 

He seems taller now, more imposing, strict, and forbidding. But there are things only I know. Only I know how passionate he can be. How he can disregard all his carefully chosen clothes and mess them up in a matter of minutes by covering them in our combined seeds and lube. 

Only I know how impatient he can be, Apparating to my flat hours before our agreed time and pacing there, waiting for me, than swooping me up the moment I Apparate in from my Auror training, sweaty and dirty robes and all, and taking me right there on the floor. 

Only I know how caring and tender he can be, tending to the accidental and occasional bruises I get from our coupling on the floor and from my Auror training; kissing and stroking each centimetre of my skin. 

Only I know how vulnerable he really is; how devoted he is to those he considers his family and friends. I hope he thinks of me as of his family now. Sometimes he looks at me with his impenetrable dark eyes and my breathe catches. He rarely, almost never tells me this, but I can see that I mean a lot to him.

His robe is the last. He won’t tell me how many of them he has, and I’ve never got to count them. After the shirts, the robes are the most numerous garments he has. They suffer the most, after all. Stray potions, dunderhead students, or even me. All those entities contribute greatly to the cause of destroying Severus’ robes. 

Today’s robe is black, obviously, though he has dark green, dark blue and even a gray one. It’s bulky, heavy and visibly warm, a nod to the weather. I don’t even know the name of the fabric it’s made of. But it doesn’t matter. It flows and billows around him gracefully. 

I like his robes. On numerous occasions, particularly in winter, I would snuggle close to him and he would envelope me in his robe, warming me with the fabric and the heat of his body. 

He probably doesn’t know it, or maybe he does, but I like to wear his robes when he’s not around. He’s never seen me do this (or so I think), but I don’t want him to see me like that, wearing his worn robe. Often, when he goes to take the shower after the full day of teaching and leaves his robe on the bed or on the sofa, I’ll wait for him to close the door, and I will put on his robe. It’s so big I can wrap it around myself several times; I can burrow myself in it entirely. But I do nothing of the sort. I just pull it tightly around my shoulders and press my face to the fabric, inhaling his scent, the smell of potions he’s made, the smell of his sweat, of his barely noticeable aftershave. 

I know it’s obsessive, but I can’t stop myself. And I don’t want him to know that he holds that much power over me. But I think he knows it, anyway. He admitted once, in a bout of unprecedented candour, that our connection, first established so violently in my Fifth Year, grew deeper when out attitude towards each other changed. I’m glad it did. I’m no Legilimens myself, but I like to feel the presence of his mind in mine. 

He looks at himself in the mirror and cards his fingers through his hair, letting it fall onto his face; the final piece in his armour.

He summons his wand from the bedside table and tucks it inside his robe sleeve. He finally turns to face me properly. I squirm feeling my face go red. His gaze is piercing me; it’s filled with amusement. His eyebrow rises. He looks pointedly at my crotch, covered by sheet. I haven’t even realised, but I’m rocking slightly, rubbing my cock on the mattress. I stop. It takes all the remnants of my willpower to do that.

“Enjoying the show, Potter?”

I grin cheekily. “Immensely.” 

With his long legs, it takes him all of three strides to get to the bed. He sits on the edge and I roll onto my back to make some room for him. He leans over me, his hair touching my cheek, his hand slowly sliding down my thigh to my aching cock. He touches it lightly, barely squeezing his hand around it. I moan and he smirks. 

“What could have possibly got you into such a state, Mr Potter?” He purrs the words near my ear, but his lips never get close enough to touching it.

I moan again in desperation and wrap my arms around his neck. He leans closer and kisses me. The press of his lips on mine is divine; soft and tender, but powerful and demanding at the same time. I want more. I want him, now, right this moment. But I know we can’t and he won’t. I’ve learnt it the hard way not to try to undress him in the mornings, before his classes.

Sometimes he can relent and allow for a quickie or a hasty blow job, but it’s not what I want right now; and not what he wants. His lips release mine and he raises his head. His eyes are burning me, his hand on my cock is still tormenting me, but he’s not taking it further. I know he has to go now, but I can’t make myself let him go. 

His next question baffles me for a second. “Do you know what day is it today?” 

I know, but I don’t think he wants to hear it’s Friday. Then it dawns on me and I gasp. Of course, that’s why I actually came here yesterday; to be able to spend this day with him.

I blush and smile at him blindingly. He actually remembers. “It’s exactly two years today since we got together.” I trace his cravat with my finger. I gave it to him on this same day, exactly a year ago. He gave me a fancy pair of broom gloves; charmed leather and my initials carved at the wrist clasps. He said he was tired of feeling my calluses on his cock. I laughed. He actually cared for me and didn’t want me to get hurt anymore, as I would sometimes rub my hands raw during practices. 

He’s smiling at me with this rare smile of his, the one that he only shows to me. He’s sliding his hand back up my thigh, to my chest. I whimper at the loss of his hand on my cock and he kisses me lightly again. 

“I take it you’re free today, since you’re still lounging in my bed.” He straightens and his hand slides across my chest. I catch it and press his palm to my face, to my lips. 

His fingers caress my cheek lightly. “My classes end at four. I don’t have any detentions to observe today.” 

I raise an eyebrow at him. How can he know it if the classes haven’t started yet and the students haven’t had a chance to show their spectacular abilities yet? He smirks. “Every student who misbehaves today will spend the charming week-end with Mr Filch.”

I laugh joyfully. He’s fabulously wicked. He stands up, still smiling and walks to the door. “I presume I’ll find you right where you are, Potter, after my classes end.” He turns to look at me questioningly.

“Wouldn’t even dream of leaving this bed today.” I turn back to my side and pull the crumpled sheet off my legs. My upper knee it bent, my arse showcased for him to see. I can see the faint blush rising on his cheeks. 

He nods and walks out of the bedroom briskly. I sigh, roll back onto my back and wrap my hand around my cock. I know we’ll have a glorious evening, and night, and the week-end, but right now I need this. He made me want him without a single effort on his part, again. 

Oh, I’ll be here when he comes back, he shouldn’t have any doubt of that. I have a present for him, too. Another little something for his wardrobe. Or better say, for his drawer. Something that only I can see on him. And promptly take it off. I smile imagining his reaction. 

I slide my hand languidly over my cock, thinking about and re-playing his every move this morning. I reverse the images, taking all his layers off one by one, revealing the body only I can see. My hand speeds up.

He’s mine. And I’m his. 

I come with his name on my lips. I smile lazily when I feel a slight poke of his mind on mine. He felt it. Those are the perks of loving the best Legilimens in England. 

I feel his final caress on my mind before I drift off to sleep again. I manage to answer him. _I’ll wait for you._

He sent some words my way, but I wasn’t quite conscious anymore to catch them properly. But I’m sure there were only three short words there, one of them starting with “lo”. He never says them aloud, but I know it anyway.

I smile; I’ll tell him those same words later and will see him blush charmingly. 

I fall asleep with my face burrowed into Severus’ pillow, his scent covering me like the warmest blanket in the world.


End file.
